


make your move on me

by luckycharmz



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Nerd Mickey Milkovich, Protective Ian Gallagher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 06:34:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30051372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckycharmz/pseuds/luckycharmz
Summary: Before Ian can complete his thought, another much louder voice calls out. “Yo, freaky four-eyes, think you can step aside?”Mickey’s about to let go but Ian holds him closer, tighter.Ian turns, his eyes falling an inch lower than his eye level and raises his brows. “You wanna fuckin’ repeat that for me?” Ian asks, his lip twitching.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 12
Kudos: 172





	make your move on me

**Author's Note:**

> Hi? I wrote a thing. It’s kinda different? Let me know if you liked it.
> 
> Title from Move Like U Stole It by ZZ Ward, aka the Gallavich anthem.

When Ian steps into the club with Lip, he’s hit with flashing lights and a surge of warmth. He’s about to ask Lip if he wants a drink but he’s already waving someone down and disappearing into the crowd. 

Ian’s not surprised. He walks over to the bar, ready to sit alone but someone catches his eye. 

“Hey, stranger,” Ian says as he sits alongside the most handsome man he has ever laid eyes on. He’s got inky hair, cerulean eyes and the most adorable glasses he’s ever seen. 

The man in question turns his head to the side and sets his glass down. His mouth parts the slightest bit as if he can’t believe he’s the one being talked to. 

“Can I buy you another drink?” Ian asks, leaning in. Whether it’s because of the noise of the music or because he wants to be closer, no one needs to know. 

The raven haired man is speechless for a moment. “Uh, yeah. I mean--if you want, you don’t-”

“I want to,” Ian cuts in. He waves the bartender down, asking for two of whatever the man is having. “I’m Ian, by the way.” He puts his hand forward. 

“Mickey.” He takes Ian’s hand, expecting him to shake it but instead—

—instead, Ian brings it up to his mouth and presses his warm lips to his knuckles. 

Ian watches Mickey’s lip tug upwards before they take their hands back and are met with two drinks. 

Ian turns so his knees are now pressed to the outside of Mickey’s thigh as he takes a sip of his drink—old fashioned. 

Good looks _and_ good taste, Ian thinks. 

“Are you here alone?” Ian finds his lips moving before he has a chance to think. 

Mickey smiles, his teeth show and Ian thinks he could drown in the sight of a smile so beautiful. “Smooth, Ian.” Mickey turns his head to Ian, then his body, their knees touching. “Came with my sister but I’m pretty sure she’s sucking face in the bathroom right about now.”

It’s Ian’s turn to laugh, “sounds similar to the friend I’m here with.” He looks around the packed club, colourful lights and sweaty bodies, then back to Mickey. “So, Mickey. You wanna dance?”

“I don’t really dance.” 

“Everyone dances. You’re either good,” he pauses, brings the glass to his lips, “or too afraid.” 

“I’m not afraid to dance. I just--I don’t,” Mickey stutters and pushes his glasses up his nose nervously.

The gesture makes Ian swoon, how can someone be so sweet and sexy all at once? 

Ian hums, downs the rest of his drink and stands in front of Mickey. “Prove it,” he challenges. 

He watches as Mickey’s eyes take their time running up his body and then stop at his face, licking his lips. 

This time when Ian lays his hand out for Mickey to take, he pulls him flush against himself then leads them onto the crowded dance floor. 

He wraps his arms around Mickey’s waist and lays his hands over each other on the small of Mickey’s back. “Mickey,” he whispers into his ear.

Mickey looks up, he looks confused, as if he’s contemplating what to do. “I--I don’t dance.”

Ian smiles warmly, reassuringly, then takes Mickey’s hands and lays them flat on his chest, “just hold me, I’ll do the rest.” He lays his hands on Mickey’s waist and sways them side to side then rests their foreheads together. “Okay?” he whispers. 

Mickey nods, his hands falling down to Ian’s taunt stomach and then wrapping around the middle of his back. “You smell sweet.” He opens his eyes to see Ian smiling. 

“Might taste sweet too,” Ian says, opening his eyes. His eyes flicker down to Mickey’s lips but he looks away. So instead Ian leans down and nuzzles his face into Mickey’s neck. 

Mickey’s hands run up and down Ian’s smooth back, feeling the stretch of his dress shirt, how it fits tightly all over. “Wow,” he means to whisper to himself but forgets Ian and him are practically molded to each other. 

“Feel something you like, Mickey?” Ian presses a soft kiss to Mickey’s neck before moving back, still in his space. 

Mickey’s lips fall open, like a deer in headlights— like he’s been caught. Before he can say anything, his eyes flicker to somewhere beside Ian. His expression turns cold and he leans impossibly closer to Ian. 

“Mick-”

Before Ian can complete his thought, another much louder voice calls out. “Yo, freaky four-eyes, think you can step aside?” 

Mickey’s about to let go but Ian holds him closer, tighter. 

Ian turns, his eyes falling an inch lower than his eye level and raises his brows. “You wanna fuckin’ repeat that for me?” Ian asks, his lip twitching.

The man takes a step closer, “oh please, as if a guy like you really wants to be dancing with,” he pauses, looks at Mickey and makes a disgusted face. 

Ian feels Mickey tug on his hand but Ian doesn’t let up. The guy looks so full of himself, all faux bravado, it almost makes Ian regret his next move but also, not at all. His left fist lands perfectly against the guy's jaws, making him lose his footing and grabbing onto his face with a hiss. 

“Say something about him again. I dare you,” Ian challenges, his other hand still holding Mickey’s. More than a few people have stopped dancing to watch them, but Ian doesn’t care— in fact, he welcomes it. 

“Fuck you,” the man spits. A few of his friends have taken to stand by him as if that makes a difference to Ian. 

Ian pulls Mickey to his side and smirks, small and secretive. “I probably will be doing some of that tonight. You can’t say the same, now can you?” he pauses, a smug look on his face, “ _bitch._ ”

The guy turns and leaves, his friends rushing behind him and the crowd slowly goes back to dancing. Ian takes Mickey’s hand and leads them to the quietest area at the club and takes a seat on the couch. 

“Ian- that was. You didn’t have to-” Mickey sputters, he doesn’t know what to say. His heart is racing, he can feel his blood thrumming in his skin- that was just. He has no words. 

Ian caresses Mickey’s face, it’s delicate and warm, it makes Mickey's body go lax immediately. 

“Mickey,” he says. “I wasn’t going to let him speak to you that way.” 

Mickey’s feels like he’s on fire—feels like Ian is the sun and his skin is burning. “Thank you,” he whispers, leaning into Ian’s space.

“You wanna get outta here?”

Mickey’s brows furrow and he looks elsewhere.

“There’s a diner a few blocks down,” Ian adds, taking hold of Mickey’s hand in both his big ones. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, not until Mickey’s body is relaxed again. “The things I said to him about us, it was to shut him up. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want, I don’t want you thinking I’m a dick.” 

“You this sweet to every guy you pick up at the club?” 

Ian leans forward, “Just the ones named Mickey.” 


End file.
